A/N: I have a compromise that involves the worst combination of Solomon and Goldilocks, with a dash of Sliding Doors. I am going to do a trick at the end of this chapter for people who want a little sausage making that could be slightly spoilerish. I sort of apologize for the evil cliffy in the last chapter, but –
[Update - Pay attention to the "Red/Green" in the title]
Wade
RED
Elizabeth, feeling the weight of somewhere between months and decades of anger and humiliation falling on her, shoved the door of the carriage open again, stuck her head out, and yelled in a most unladylike manner. "FAIR WARNING, MR. DARCY!"
She watched both grooms carefully, but neither gave any indication of hearing her, and the coach was already moving at quite a clip.
The lady sighed, and reflected that it was probably for the best, because she had shouted more out of rage and frustration than anything else; and she had no idea what she would have said if her husband returned anyway. More than likely, they would have had another vicious row, and she would have left even farther in his brown books. She supposed he would have been even farther in hers as well, but it was difficult to imagine her being any angrier with him and not bashing his head in with a rock.
One of the grooms from the back of her carriage was standing by the door, wondering what to do. He had put the step down and was holding the door while waiting to see if he could help her in any way. He was a young man, probably no older than eighteen who reminded her vaguely of one of her Gardiner cousins, and he was obviously very uncomfortable. She took his offered hand, descended to the courtyard, and feeling completely foolish, she looked at him, wondering what to say.
He helped her out by asking, "Should we catch them up, Mrs. Darcy? It is not too late. Or would you like to take some refreshments?"
She sighed. "No, I suppose not. There seems little point. How far to the next stop?"
"About 2 hours, ma'am."
She looked around, and found herself surrounded by a coachman, and the two grooms; angrier than she had ever been in her life. She did not know if her new husband was as bad of a man as he appeared to be, or if some type of extreme pressure that she did not understand that was making him act out of character.
Through her pain and rage, she could just barely comprehend that she had been squeezed into this infernal box with that man, but so had he been forced to it, and from his perspective, the fault was entirely on the Bennet side. She had to admit that she had not exactly been a model of propriety and temperance herself, and he might be reacting to some type of pressure she could not understand. At times, he had rubbed his head as if in great pain, so for all she knew, he was sick and was ordinarily as adorable as a new puppy. With a grim chuckle, that ridiculous thought brought her a quarter‑inch back towards good humor. She thought she would gladly give him the benefit of the doubt if she ever got rid of enough anger – eventually – maybe. That said, there was certainly nothing in her actual experience to indicate that he was someone she wanted to spend a lot of time with.
She asked, "Might I have your names, good sirs?"
Calling a footman or coachman 'sir' was probably a little silly, but she reckoned that she needed all the allies she could get, and being kind to servants was not only the right thing to do; but it also served the very practical purpose of making them like you more than the people where not kind. It was just common sense, but she had been exposed to many of her own social class, who did not seem to grasp it. She had known people who treated their horses or dogs better than their servants, but she was not one of them – and come to think of it, she had no evidence that her husband was either. There was a positive thought among the rubble of her ruminations for the day.
She looked over and saw his coach go around a corner out of sight, perhaps a half‑mile from where she was standing. She thought that a half‑mile was good, a mile better, a dozen better yet, and a thousand best of all. Realistically though, that latter choice seemed unlikely.
While she was woolgathering, the coachman approached, so she was surrounded by all three of the men. "I am Luis Gregory, ma'am, and these are my sons, Silas and Percy."
Elizabeth curtsied, for lack of any better idea. "As you probably already know, I am Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy. I am pleased to meet you."
All three bowed, although for the first conversation with a new mistress, this one seemed odd in the very least.
Elizabeth asked, "Do any of you need rest or refreshments?"
Mr. Gregory answered for all three. "No, ma'am – we are fine, but we do appreciate being asked."
While he was speaking, Silas turned around, stepped on the coach step, reached into the back corner, to return a moment later with Elizabeth's shawl. It was her favorite, something her Aunt Gardiner said would be handy in the Frozen Wilds of the North. It was a part of her trousseau, which should make her loathe it, except that she would happily bet almost anything that her aunt and uncle had made the purchase, and not her worthless father. For all she knew, they had paid for the entire thing. It would not surprise her.
Silas said, "Begging your pardon, Mrs. Darcy, but you seem chilled. Might this help?"
Elizabeth smiled at the kindness and thoughtfulness, then wrapped the shawl about her shoulders. "I do not know how much you heard, or you know, but I assume you understand that this is not exactly usual."
Gregory made a sound that might well have been a clearing of his throat or could pass for a grunt. "I heard that in Japan they have these three monkeys – See No Evil, Hear No Evil and Speak No Evil. My sons and I are of that persuasion, Mrs. Darcy. We may depend on our discretion. We not to gossip. Your story is yours to tell, and all any of us will venture is agreement with whatever you decide to say."
Elizabeth smiled at the kindness, and frankly, found the oddness of the conversation calming in a way. "Thank you. I cannot say how much that means to me."
Gregory just nodded. "Shall we get to a place that makes you more comfortable, Mrs. Darcy? We stop in two hours to bait the horses, but we could just as easily stop for the night."
"How do you manage it, if you do not mind me asking?"
"Mr. Darcy has accounts at any number of inns, and I carry some coin for emergencies."
Elizabeth nodded, thinking it was probably best if she did not rob her own coachman and run away just yet. "Let us get all of ourselves out of the cold as soon as we can. If you are ready to leave this place, I am as well."
She omitted the part about that particular inn being cursed and knew that night's inn could not possibly be one she stopped at before. She was looking forward to something new. Perhaps, she thought, things were looking up. She had already known two people in Derbyshire that she liked, and now it appeared that she might have three more friends.
Silas bowed, and offered to hand her into the carriage. She noted that he was a handsome man, but of such vastly different social classes that it would never even occur to her to think beyond that. The thought gave her pause, because the gulf between her and Silas was probably about the same as that between her and Mr. Darcy.
The Crooked Goose was a nice, clean, well‑run establishment a cut above the coaching inns Elizabeth had stayed at before, which was about as expected. Even on £40 per annum, Mrs. Darcy would be expected to maintain their status, and any man who could afford to use two horses and three men to haul one woman to Hertfordshire, who could just as well have taken the stage, could well afford the best inns. That part of being Mrs. Darcy might be something she could accustom herself to over time – if she ever traveled again. For all she knew, her husband intended to send her off to a remote estate or lock her in the dower house. Neither was outside the realm of possibility.
The innkeeper's wife, Mrs. Hughes welcomed her and showed her to the inn's best room, along with her eleven-year-old daughter Laura.
Elizabeth complimented the woman on the room, which was entirely satisfactory, but the Mrs. Hughes frowned slightly. "I am afraid we do not have a qualified lady's maid, Mrs. Darcy. Your husband did not arrange one, and …"
Elizabeth laughed. "… and you expected I would bring one with me?"
The matron nodded.
Elizabeth smiled again. "Fear not, Mrs. Hughes. I do not have one yet, but …"
And then she leaned down slightly to speak to Laura. "… can you keep a secret, Laura?"
The girl just nodded shyly.
Elizabeth said, "Walk around and look at the buttons on my back. Do you think you could wash your hands very clean and then unbutton all of those without breaking more than two or three," with a smile and a wink?
Laura did as Elizabeth asked and then came back nodding, too shy to actually answer.
"And help braid my hair?"
Another nod was the only answer.
"Mrs. Hughes, it turns out you do have a suitable lady's maid. Charge my husband whatever the usual rate is for such a service. Perhaps you can give Laura a bit of it to spend as she pleases, and save the rest for a rainy day?"
The matron smiled and nodded, then asked about supper. Elizabeth told her she was happy to eat in the common food in the common room, as she preferred that to private dining, so long as Mr. Hughes or one of her grooms was about to ensure her safety.
With all their affairs settled, Elizabeth sat down to rest for an hour, and think without the coach rattling her teeth, wondering just how in the world she would adjust to the new situation, and how to make it better, or at least less bad.
One thing was certain. She had some time, but not forever to work out how to approach this marriage, which mostly seemed doomed from the start. Perhaps, Mr. Darcy was a better man than he appeared, but the evidence in support of that thesis was thin on the ground. What did she actually know about the man?
He did seem to take care of his friends, or at least, when his friends needed a wife, he seemed to be able to procure one on very little notice… Elizabeth abruptly stopped that train of thought right there. She had no idea what the situation was between Mr. Bingley and Miss de Bourgh (now Mrs. Bingley), whom she supposed was now a cousin. Lady Catherine sounded about as easy to get along with as Mrs. Bennet, and the young lady was at least five and twenty. Elizabeth could imagine that after five more years of her mother's lamentations and her father's ridicule, she might jump at the chance for an amiable man like Mr. Bingley. She would have thought very ill of his abandonment of Jane, but given the circumstances, she could no more blame him than she could blame a deer from running away at the sound of a gun. No, Mr. Bingley was perfectly rational disengaging from the Bennet family, and if he happened to have a felicitous arrangement with Miss de Bourgh, who was Elizabeth to question it.
Mr. Darcy had been helping Mr. Bingley with Netherfield, which was generous. Not that many of the landed gentry would help a tradesman's son establish himself in a higher social class, particularly when it meant putting up with said gentleman's younger sister.
The thought of Miss Bingley gave Elizabeth pause for a moment, and she remembered a snipped of conversation she had overheard at Netherfield one night while going to check on Jane. She was leaving the parlor, and she overheard that young woman complaining about Elizabeth as usual.
"Elizabeth Bennet," said Miss Bingley, when the door was closing on her. "is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art."
"Undoubtedly," replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed. "there is a meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable."
Sitting in the Crooked Goose, Elizabeth had to reflect on those words. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.
She had to admit, that if she managed to contort herself to her husband's point of view, he had been tricked by the cunning of someone in the Bennet family. Elizabeth still wanted to beat him with a stick for refusing to trust her word that she was not involved, but there was no doubt whatsoever that he had been caught through cunning. It was not opinion – it was undeniable fact. So, even thought that while she could certainly not forgive the man acting like the vilest beast; she did have to give him some small measure of credit, if she wanted any hope at all, of salvaging the marriage.
She wondered what she really knew about her husband. He was a stubborn man, an arrogant man, a –
She abruptly forced herself to stop that mode of thinking, as it led nowhere good. She tried to find an example where was a cruel man and found the results to be somewhat ambiguous. He as certainly callous and disagreeable throughout the time of their joined fates, but was he cruel. She would have to think about where she wanted to draw the line. She thought that if he was at least not cruel, she might be able to live with him. Charlotte certainly could. She would just ignore him whenever it suited her fancy. Elizabeth did not want to live that kind of sterile existence, but she supposed that if Charlotte Lucas could then Elizabeth Darcy could as well.
Shaking her head, she tried to move on to more practical matters, as there seemed little chance of working out the particulars of her husband until he returned from wherever he was going.
The next order of business was to work out how to salvage whatever she could of her reputation. She had few choices, but that was not the same as having none. She was reminded of another conversation they had had in a house party somewhere. She could not remember what prompted the reply, but Mr. Darcy had said, "Disguise of every sort is my abhorrence."
It was an interesting thought. If it meant he valued blunt honesty over politeness or prevarication. She had to admit, that he had mostly been very disagreeable, but he had at least been honest. She was not handsome enough to tempt him to dance, so he said it in plain English. He believed she was flirting with him, and he said it clear as day. He believed she compromised him, and he made no bones about saying that as well. He had said outright that Mr. Wickham was a liar. She had no way to verify that, but she could probably worry over both gentlemen's words at her leisure and work out whose story was more consistent. She was apparently to have plenty of leisure.
However, the problem was her reputation and her respectability; and how she had to do to keep them at least manageable. Without definitive action she would just be trading one kind of damage to her family reputation for another. While disguise was her husband's abhorrence, her husband was not here, so she would do as she chose. Disguise did not bother her in the least. It was half of the social contract called politeness, and propriety was mostly codified deception.
With that thought in mind, she got to work.
Mrs. Hughes, might you have any black dye or tell me where to purchase it? My coachman can settle the amount when we leave.
The matron had not heard that the young lady was in mourning, but since she knew nothing about her, nor did she consider it her business, she replied, "I keep a bit here, Mrs. Darcy. What do you have in mind?"
"I need to go into mourning."
Curiously, the matron asked, "If it is not impertinent to ask, who are you mourning?"
Elizabeth thought it probably best not to say 'myself', or 'my hopes and dreams', so instead said, "No, Mrs. Hughes, it is not impertinent, and I am not the least bit offended – but I would rather not say."
It was far from the oddest request the innkeepers had ever entertained and might not even pass for the oddest request of the month. "I have the dye and Laura can get a laundry maid to do the work. They should be dry by morning. I assume you will buy new when you get home?"
"Perhaps. For the moment, I have two day‑dresses that are very practical, a mobcap and some boots. Could you get all that done before I leave tomorrow? I am in no particular hurry but would like to start moving before noon. I will happily pitch in if it would speed things up."
"No, ma'am, that will not be necessary. It can be done easily. Take Laura with you and give her the clothing. We shall see to it."
Elizabeth found great pleasure in sitting in the common room of the inn for her meal, and an hour or two after she finished. She sat in a corner with Laura to keep her company. The young girl was delightful and told her all about everyone who passed through for supper, even though Elizabeth suspected two thirds of it was made up on the spot. The girl had a vivid imagination, which Elizabeth very much appreciated.
The patrons were mostly travelers, with a new batch coming in every half‑hour or hour. Some came in noses fully in the air demanding private rooms or this or that, and Elizabeth found some real simple amusement in the process, while wondering how long it would be until she acted just like that.
While she sat there, she reflected on the day. That morning, she had been Miss Elizabeth Bennet, then she was a moderately beautiful bride whom her groom hardly looked at. By evening, sitting in the walking dress she had used to travel the paltry three miles to Netherfield all those weeks ago, she looked no different than she had when she came through on her way to Lambton. It was turning out to be a funny day, and aside from the fact that she could almost guarantee to not have a row with her husband, the morrow was not looking very much more promising.
A/N: If it wasn't clear, I split the story into two threads, Red and G[i]reen. They'll mostly alternate, I think. I know the Red thread all the way through, and the Green is a WIP.
If you must know, scroll down.
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This was my original plan, although the plan was darker in actuality, but not so detailed in its darkness, and the pre‑wedding desperation was about half of what I ended up with. By now, you will have guessed what I'm doing since I apparently can't make up my mind, as usual. Next – back to Green.
Wade
[i]
